The Drawing
by randomfics
Summary: The monk wasn't sure who these people in the pictures were supposed to be. Pre-series


Wind blew softly through the wide hallways, twining and twirling its way past open and closed doors alike. It gently rustled the leaves, danced with the flowers, and tugged the hair of a sleeping child.

He was only six or seven years old, old enough to talk and to do some small activities, but that was about it. Small, and for the moment, completely asleep. The wind stirred around the child fitfully, tugging at the hair and clothes as if urging him to wake up.

The child started awake as the winds blew on, stirring the small ornaments on the other end of the room. Papers spiraled downwards, within the child's reach. A brush and ink remained where they always sat, still wet from their masters use not too long ago.

The child came awake with a start, brown eyes snapping open, distant in a way that didn't register the surroundings. Only that he needed to tell someone something.

The six-year-old glanced around, frown growing slightly as he realized he was alone. The papers rustled invitingly, and his face lit up as he gathered them, and the ink and brush waiting for his caretaker to return.

With a happy grin, he plopped down to draw his soon-to-be-best friends.

As he drew, he hummed softly, swaying in beat to the music that didn't belong in these halls. A tall, old man dressed in orange robes paused outside of the doorway, listening to the music with a thoughtful frown, peering at the child happily drawing away.

At this stage, it was little more then stick figures, but here and there you could make out a few details.

Like the two on one page for example- they stood right next to each other _(watching each others backs)_ as the girl(?) raised her arms above her head. Water spun overhead. The other stick figure was male- but he held out what looked like a sword and boomerang _(The crescent shape could be the moon as well)_. There were igloos in the back, with penguins.

The second sheet of paper had a girl on it. There was not mistaking that- she was wearing a dress, but even in stick figure form, her hands were curled into fists _(they pumped the air in excitement, and conveyed her affection)_ as the face with no eyes stared out from the paper. Everything in her pose said she was confident, as rocks floated next to her. Earthbender.

On the other half of the paper, was a boy. Or a man. A firebender from the looks of it. It was hard to tell with the lightning bolts and black darkness that seemed to gathering around him in waved of ink. There was a scowl on the mans face- and what had happened to his face? _(burned and hurting, but not broken)_ It was half covered in ink.

A mistake probably.

The monk hovered for a moment, watching the childs back for a moment longer as the child began to scribble in a large sphere on the third paper. Then he went still as a sky bison with its six legs was curved withing the sphere, and underneath was a arrow-tattooed child, fists together, and legs crossed.

Waiting.

The monk cleared his throat- it was time and past for the child to come outside to join the others outside. "Aang! It's play time, do you want to come out and play with the others?"

The six-year-old nodded eagerly, bouncing to his feet, and then pausing with a frown to look back towards the papers. The foreboding feeling came back- Aang shouldn't be so attached to those papers, not unless there was some special meaning attached to them.

"What's this Aang?"

"My new friends!" More like soon-to-be-friends. "We're gonna do lots of cool stuff together!"

The earth and fire would be easy enough, but the water girl? Last he knew, Water Tribe women weren't allowed to fight. Plus, which polar was she from? North or south? Was the boy a non-bender? What would a non-bender have to do with the Avatar? What would any of these people have to do with the Avatar? Still, he would bring up the idea of the Avatar meeting others from different nations soon.

"That's very nice Aang, now why don't you run along, and I'll keep these pictures for you."

Aang dashed out of the room, and the old monk chuckled as he picked up the drying pictures, eyeing the last one with an odd look. Just what did they mean? Did they have any meaning?

The Avatar, the balance of the world was only six. The monk was sure the pictures meant nothing. He placed them in the drawer, and soon the pictures were completely forgotten, lost and abandoned.

-end-


End file.
